My Immortal
by invisibleamye
Summary: A new arrival at Hogwarts causes quite a stir... Rated PG for pottymouth on Draco's part.
1. Enter the Dragon

"I am the daughter of Earth and Water,  
And the nursling of the Sky:  
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;  
I change, but I cannot die."  
  
-- 'The Cloud' by Percy B. Shelley

_**My Immortal**_

Harry grinned. It was the first day of school after the summer holidays, and he had never been more thrilled to be back at Hogwarts.

He was sitting in a carriage on the Hogwarts express with Ron, Hermione and Neville. Ginny had just left, to find some of her fifth year friends. Rain was lashing on the windows, and there was a large pile of food on the floor. He was with his two best friends and another, who was fast becoming just as close to him as Ron. Strangely enough, Neville had become very close to Harry since last year. Since Neville had stopped being so afraid of everything, he was a lot more fun to be around. So he'd started hanging around with Harry, Ron and Hermione and that had been it.

And it was set to be the best year ever. Voldemort was back out in the open, which meant that his life was no longer in so _much_ danger, and that everybody now knew he was sane. Harry smiled to himself. Yes. This year was gonna be good.

Harry was laughing and joking with his four closest friends, when Ginny burst through he door once more. Her face was flushed, as if she had been running, and when she spoke she was short of breath.

"Guys," she panted, swallowing. "Guys, you've gotta come and see this. There's a new girl!"

"Yeah," said Ron, looking intently at the cauldron cake in his hand. "There's new girls every year, Gin. There called First Years."

"No!" said Ginny, swatting Ron's arm. "She's not a first year. She looks about thirteen. And Goddess, have you guys gotta see her!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville remained where they were. Harry raised his eyebrow at Ginny dubiously. She rolled her eyes at him, then darted forward and grabbed his arm. She ran out of the carriage, pulling Harry after her.

"Come on!"

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, who reluctantly followed, Hermione pulling a worried Neville after her.

Ginny took them right to the back of the train, to the last few carriages that always seemed deserted for some reason. It was darker in the last section of the train, and had a somewhat haunted air to it. It gave most of the students the creeps. Today, however, the corridor was packed. Everyone was crowding around the door of the final carriage, craning their necks to get a better view of whatever it was that they were looking at.

"Come on, let us through! They haven't seen her yet!"

Eventually they reached the door, where Draco Malfoy was waiting with Blaise Zabini and Tracey Davis. Ginny pulled the foursome through the door, forcing those inside out, and closed the door before he could comment ("Excuse me, guys. Just a sec."). She pointed at a pile of old blankets and a Hogwarts trunk in the corner.

"There!" she said happily.

"Er, no offense, Gin," Ron said quietly, "but what is it we're supposed to be looking at?"

At that moment, the blankets rolled over, causing Ron to jump. Ginny grinned triumphantly. "There!" she hissed again. "I told you!"

It took Harry's eyes a few seconds to realise just what it was that he was seeing. When it finally registered in his brain, however, his breath hissed in sharply through his teeth. Hermione gasped. Ron just gawped.

A girl's face peeped out from inside. She was sleeping. If there were angels, Harry found himself thinking, then this is what they would look like.

Her face was heart-shaped, and as white as a ghost - almost translucent, too. Here and there, there were a few light brown freckles, scattered across her nose. She was very cute. Her sculpted cheekbones accentuated her face shape perfectly. Her eyelashes were long, thick and black. He could see that, even though the angel's eyes were closed. Because that's what she was to Harry already - an angel.

Hair as black as jet framed her lovely face, hanging in glossy ringlets. She was flawless, but for one thing...

Harry's eyes traveled up the girl's face, past her perfectly smooth eyebrows, to her forehead.

Shit. No fucking way.

He thought this last bit out loud. Ron shook his head.

"Way."

Neville stammered. "I d-don't understand...Harry.... Harry, she-"

"I know," Harry cut him off.

A scar.

Shaped like a lightening bolt.

End Part


	2. Trust in Me

Harry stood in numb shock, staring at the girl before him. The girl who looked just like an angel. The one who had a scar, just like his. Slowly, tentatively, he took a step forward, and sat lightly on the bench next to the girl. Hesitantly, he reached out and touched the scar that was so much like his own.

The train braked suddenly, and the lights went out. Harry felt Ron fall heavily on the seat next to him, and Hermione "oof" as she landed on top of him. Harry assumed that Ginny and Neville had fallen to the floor as well, and by the mixed yelling from outside that the crowd were now also on the ground.

Harry was about to ask if everyone was okay when he blacked out.

He was in a room. A white room, and it didn't appear to have any walls. The girl was there. Looking at him. Harry almost jumped.

Her eyes were as blue as his were green. She was looking at him with a mixed expression. Interest, crossed with-

No. Only one person had ever looked at him like that. And they were gone.

The girl smiled at him. Harry felt himself bristle. Who did she think she was? He didn't want this. No more weirdness. This year was going to be _normal_. No more weirdness. Not now. Not ever. Not anymore.

"Where the hell are we?"

The girl continued looking at him, her eyes boring into his very soul. She smirked.

"Wolfram and Hart, of course. They arranged this, I think."

"And that is _where_, exactly?" Harry snapped. He chose to ignore the last bit. He'd had enough crypticisms to last him a lifetime. If crypticisms was even a word. She smiled again. No answer. Harry asked then what he had been itching to ask since he first set eyes on her in the carriage on the Hogwarts Express. Now, however, it came out quite more rudely that he had first intended.

"Who are you?"

Her look changed. Her brow creased in confusion, but one corner of her mouth remained upturned. She was wondering. That was the look.

"Don't you know? I know you. I didn't before, but now I see you I remember."

Her voice was soft like velvet, purring across his skin. Harry mentally shook himself. _Damn mysticeries,_ he muttered to himself. He asked again, more demanding this time.

"Who ARE you?" She laughed then. It was a rich, throaty sound, and Harry wondered where he'd heard it before.

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know?"

Dark. It was so very dark here. And cold. He could hear water dripping. The cold wrapped around him like a blanket, the water in the air cloaking his senses, smothering him. Damp.

He was lying down on a hard surface, but Harry could tell it was not the floor. He tried to sit up, but found that his arms and legs were tied down.

The girl walked to his side, her face half hidden in shadow. She perched on the edge of the platform Harry was on. Still smiling. It was eerie, but beautiful at the same time. Dammit, this girl was pissing him off.

"Who the hell ARE you?!" he yelled, twisting and turning in his bonds.

The smile faded. She glanced at something behind Harry's head, her eyes fearful. She hissed quietly through her teeth.

"Naughty boy," she whispered. "Naughty boy never would behave. Sssh, you've woken the puppies now..." Her eyes bored into Harry's and she starred back at him, and he found that no matter how he turned, he could not escape her gaze. Her eyes were green now, though darker than Harry's own - almost back.

"Ssssh..." the girl hissed. She looked back over Harry's shoulder. "They are coming."

Ron and Hermione sat on one of the beds in the Hogwarts hospital wing, watching Harry writhing on the bed beside them, fear in their eyes. He had been like this for hours. They had voluntarily missed the feast to stay with him, as had Ginny, who was sitting on a chair between the two beds. The angelgirl had woken when Harry touched her, but had not yet spoken. She had been taken to Dumbledore's office upon arriving at the school. There was something decidedly weird about that girl.

Hermione, though neither of them had noticed it, was holding Ron's hand. Harry continued to thrash on the bed. A tear leaked down Hermione's cheek, for all she fought to hold it back. Ginny was already in floods. Ron's free hand was clenched so tight by his side that Ginny thought his knuckles would burst through his skin.

Nobody knew what was happening to Harry. Not even Dumbledore.

They were back in the white room. The girl was smiling again, but it was not the warm, friendly smile that had been there before. It was cold, and Harry didn't like it. Her eyes were golden, like a hawk's, but there was a streak of darkness behind them that unnerved Harry somewhat. Something sinister.

"Pity I had to pull you outta there so soon, sweetie. I coulda had some fun." She ran her tongue over her teeth. She was American...Harry's addled brain tried to make sense of it. She hadn't been American before...and her voice was deeper. It was no longer like velvet, nor the girlish tones of the dark room. There was an underlying layer there that Harry couldn't quite put his finger on. It was like dark chocolate...Though he knew there was something not right there, Harry felt he could drown in that voice...

Suddenly, shocking Harry out of his trance, the girl jerked backwards, as if she had taken a blow to the stomach. With a blood curdling scream, she threw her head back, going rigid. After a few seconds her shoulders slumped. She shot a look at Harry that was filled with love...

And the eyes were green.

"Harry, I-" the voice had changed once more. It was softer again, but still different than the first time. Harry was hard pushed to remember all the different voices and eyes this girl had. But this voice...it reminded Harry of fields, and sunsets, and wild flowers...and it was passionate. The owner of that voice loved him more than anything in the world. But before she could finish her sentence, her head rolled back once more, eyes closed. The girl's body jerked stiffly a few more times, like death throws. Her face was contorted into a grimace of pain. Concerned, Harry darted forward, and grabbed her girl's shoulders. She felt so small in his hands, so fragile, that for a moment Harry was afraid he might break her. The girl cried out something incoherent, but stopped jerking. She shuddered, and a fat tear rolled down her cheek.

Then, it was as if she was a different person completely - even more so than before.

Her eyes shot open. They were blood red. The voice which echoed from the girl's mouth was deep this time - a man's - and hollow.

And filled with hate.

"Potter..."

In the infirmary, Harry arched up off the bed, his eyes wide as he gasped for breath. He fell back onto the bed. His bloodshot eyes sought out his two best friends.

"Ron..." he choked. "Hermione..."

Hermione dashed forward, loosing Ron's hand and grasping Harry's instead.

"It's alright, Harry," she smiled desperately. "We're here."

Later that night, Madam Pomfrey had given Harry a potion to slow his raging heart, but had declared that there was nothing more she could do. Dumbledore had told Harry to continue as usual, and said that if he had any concerns or anything else like this happened, he should tell a member of staff.

Harry was sick of this. If his scar wasn't hurting, he was passing out and having fits, because of touching _other_ people's scars! Amazingly, Malfoy hadn't yet said anything, despite having witnessed the entire scene. Harry simply counted this as a lone good thing, if not a strange one.

Next morning at breakfast, Harry sat with Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville. They took seats at the end of the table, away from the rest of the Gryffindors, eating silently. Nobody seemed to know what to say. This year had looked so promising to Harry on the train, but already things were starting to go haywire.

When all the students had eaten, Dumbledore rose.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. As I am sure you are aware, the sorting was put off last night due to certain..." his eyes flickered briefly in Harry's direction, "circumstances. I am delighted to tell you, however, that it will therefore take place this morning, so that the first year students may take part in their regular morning lessons. Professor McGonagall, the Sorting Hat, if you please."

He waved his long-fingered hands at the doors, which burst open, and McGonagall entered with a trail of first years behind her. At the end, however, there was a girl a foot taller than everybody else, who was staring at her feet uncomfortably. It was the girl from the train. Immediately, the students as one started whispering. Each and every one, it seemed, had seen her last night on the train and had their own story: about who she was, and why she was joining late. Harry watched her cautiously as she lined up with the first years. She seemed to be normal. Her eyes were that pale, piercing blue again. Maybe the stuff in the blackout had just been a dream? Dumbledore cleared his throat, and obedient silence filled the hall once more.

"As I know you have noticed, this year we have an older new student. She is American, and will be joining us late due to family issues. She is only thirteen, however as her magical skills are already over average, due to whom she was raised by, she will be entered into the sixth year. This decision has been agreed upon by all the Hogwart's staff, AND," Dumbledore shot a look at Draco Malfoy, "the Governors." He smiled as shock rippled through the hall. "And now, to the sorting. There will be no song this year, I am afraid, due to the unfortunate time limitations."

This was followed by an annoyed muttering from the student body.

"And so, we proceed."

One by one, the first years were sorted into their own houses. All eyes were on the older girl. One question had been in all their minds since they had seen her on the train. Who _was_ she? Now, it seemed, they were about to find out.

As McGonagall moved slowly through the M's, the students were getting impatient.

"Come on," muttered Ron, angrily. "Tell us who she is! We've waited long enough."

After what seemed like an age, the moment finally arrived. The students collectively held their breath.

"Potter," called out McGonagall. "Amy."

End Part


	3. If You Want Me To Wait

The entire school sat in shocked silence for a few moments. Then, slowly but surely, like an incoming wave, the noise level rose to the level of hundreds of voices all competing to be heard. The only ones not talking were Harry, Ron and Hermione. Snatches of conversation could be heard from the tables around them.

"...Potter, did she say?..."

"...think she's related to Harry, do..."

"...and a scar, just like..."

Dumbledore once again cut off the noise by tapping his glass with his knife. The clear sound reverberated through the hall as he patiently waited for silence to fall once more.

The girl was standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the head table and the sorting hat, looking around at them all. She hadn't a clue what was going on. Willow had said she would be welcome here, but that whispering had seemed very hostile to her. Like a hoard of angry bees. That's what they'd sounded like. All the Professor had said was her name. What's in a name? She smirked to herself as her extensive Willow-stylee education came back to her. Why, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. She cleared her head quickly, returning with a bump to her surroundings. Did her name really matter? She knew she was older than the others being sorted, and she'd obviously expected some whispering because of it. That had been bad enough. But the response when the Professor had said her name was just...her thoughts paused, as she sought the right words. Well, she just didn't understand it.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Miss Potter," he said, gesturing to the stool before him. "Miss Potter, if you please."

Swallowing down her fear, the girl walked to the stool and shakily sat down. All eyes were upon her. She felt as if she was in a freak show. Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head. The brim fell over her eyes, and her world went black.

Harry stared at her. She was so..._small_. The hat seemed even bigger on her than it had on Colin and Dennis Creevy, and that was saying something. And although Harry now knew her name, he was still at a loss as to who this girl was. Harry knew that he had no siblings, but she looked so like him...and she had the unruly black hair...and the scar. But those eyes...

Harry had never seen eyes like that before. So deep that they seemed to pierce into your very soul...

Where'd she come from? And what the fuck is she doing here? And, most importantly, who the HELL is she?

Draco Malfoy's brain was on fire. She couldn't be related to him. Scarhead had no siblings. No younger ones. His parents had died too soon. But she looks so like him...his brain supplied unhelpfully. But not like him at the same time. There was...something...there. Behind those stunning violet eyes. Draco mused to himself as he watched the small girl at the top of the hall.

The Sorting hat covered half her face. It was sorta cute. Very, if he was honest about it. Draco shook his head clear violently. He couldn't think like that...She could be related to Potter. That was just plain nasty. No, he had to find out for sure first. For definite. Draco's scheming mind set to work.

Ron gaped at the tiny thing under the sorting hat. Harry didn't have a sister. He couldn't have a sister. It was impossible...but she looked so much like him that it was creepy. Aware that he was staring, (and, unlike most in the hall, Ron didn't want to be,) he tore his eyes away from the girl, and onto the first thing he saw. It was Hermione. Her mouth was hanging slightly open, and confusion crossed her brow.

Feeling Ron's eyes upon her, Hermione turned to look at him. The looks they exchanged were pointless. Neither had any explanation for the other. Ron could see Hermione's tongue. Gently, he cupped her jaw in his hand, and closed it. Before he could remove it, Hermione rested her small hand on his wrist. For security, then turned back to the girl. Ron, almost frozen, lowered his arm, resting his hands in his lap. Hermione's hand did not move. He swallowed hard, and looked back up to the girl under the Sorting Hat. The girl called Amy.

"Hmm..." the hat said for what seemed like the millionth time.

- What? – thought Amy angrily. – What? What do you want? –

"Hmm..." the hat repeated. Amy bristled.

"I was just wondering," said the hat, so slowly that Amy wondered if it would ever finish, "which one you are..."

"Which one I am what?" Amy snapped out loud. She was sick of all it's umming and ahhing. She could feel the hundreds of pairs of eyes on her. She wished it would hurry up and get this over with.

The students, as one body, jumped when she spoke. She was American. All but Harry hadn't known that. Even he hadn't been sure. That explained where she had come from, at least.

"What do you mean?" she continued.

It's odd...thought Harry pensively...Hearing just one side of a conversation.

"Look, I don't care, ok? Everyone's staring at me. Just sort me already!"

Most of the students looked away, embarrassed. Harry didn't. He didn't care if he was staring at her. He felt he had the right to. She had the same name as him, and looked so much like him that Harry felt she was almost stealing him. He would stare all he wanted.

"Hmm..." said the hat, coming finally to it's conclusion. "Ok, then. I'll just go with the strongest one."

It paused, drawing breath. (Odd thing to do, Amy mused. Not like it had lungs...)

"SLYTHERIN!"

The muttering started again as Amy made her way to the Slytherin House table. No one was looking at her now, as far as she could tell, but she could still feel eyes on her, front and back. She didn't feel welcome in the slightest. It was as if they wanted her out. Amy resolved to owl Willow and tell her she wanted to leave. She didn't appreciate these wizard's attitudes.

There was no round of applause for Amy as she joined her House Table. A few first years clapped once or twice nervously, but mainly, there were just whispers. She took a seat at the end of the table, and as she did so her eyes met those of a boy seated a few feet away. She held his gaze, and gently reached out with her mind, brushing his. She found his mind, like his eyes, hard, and steely. But that was not all. He was hiding something. So deep that she could not reach it to find out what it was, but it was still there – warm, and pure, and filled with truth. Amy smiled to herself. There was more to this boy that he was letting on.

Draco shuddered, and looked away hurriedly. He felt violated by those eyes. That girl had more magic in her than any sixth years. She could have graduated Hogwarts a long time ago. He could feel her cool gaze still upon him. Draco blushed, in spite of himself.

Amy smiled to herself. Yes. There was definitely some humanity there. All she had to do was bring it out. She studied the rest of his face carefully.

Draco's hair was not slicked back, as it had been in previous years. It now fell over his forehead into his eyes. Blaise was constantly telling him he looked better like that, and when it came to appearances, Draco found that Blaise should be listened to. He always looked immaculate. He knew his stuff.

Draco felt that girl, that -_Amy's-_ eyes creep down his face. As she took in his features, Amy made a mental note of his sculpted cheekbones, and chiselled jaw line, and smirked. Yummy.

She turned back to the top of the hall, where the sorting continued.

Across the Hall, at the Gryffindor table, another set of eyes watched her. Harry's glare bored into her back, as he struggled with himself, trying to work out who, or what, she was. But Harry found that the girl's back contained no answers, and resolutely turned to watch the end of the sorting with the rest of the school.

This year was going to be interesting, to say the least.

End Part


End file.
